Damaged Goods
by Mooncombo
Summary: She had told her story, emotionless and monotone. Barely blinking, she recounted for him the course of events leading up to her inevitable capture by Saleem’s men. She had never intended to survive.
1. Chapter 1

Ok, this is my first story posted here. Please review. I have an idea of where this is going, but we will see where Ziva and Gibbs take me.

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Damaged Goods

He felt it. She was stone still, but he felt it. Her control. So controlled. That was Ziva. Controlled. Fierce. Deadly.

Vulnerable.

She had told her story, emotionless and monotone. Barely blinking, she recounted for him the course of events leading up to her inevitable capture by Saleem's men. She had never intended to survive. Rather, she had tried to ensure her death, because to survive would be worse. They would show her no mercy and while she lay in a dark cell, pain radiating off of her body in waves, she would be forced to face the knowledge that her father had sent her to die.

Yet, here she sat, across from him and very much alive. Gibbs cocked his head to the side, absorbing the things she could not say. He touched her clenched fist with one single finger as if to gently shake her from her reverie. His touch grounded her, soothed her raw nerves, calmed her.

Although the team was elated to have her safely returned to them, they harbored resentment and anger. She had broken their trust, their faith, and yet they had risked everything to bring her home. Despite their own wounds, each of them believed that time would heal their rift and all would be returned to normal. But Gibbs knew differently. He knew Ziva would never be the same.

She wore a brave visage. She was understandably shaken, but in the eyes of the team, she was still the same Ziva at her core. She was tough and she was hard. A survivor. She would be absorbed back into their close knit family and they naively believed that things could once again be as they were.

But Gibbs _knew_. He knew what she had endured. She had spoken not a word of her time as a captive, and yet he knew. Ziva a been broken. _Damaged goods _Vance had caller her. Gibbs had no doubt that she would survive. He had no doubt she would excel as an NCIS agent. She would pick herself up and she would put one foot in front of the other until she could convince herself that she was alright. And they would all believe it. Except Gibbs.

He could feel her newly acquired fragility and its depth.

_Don't bury it. _So she continued with her story. She relayed facts. Just the bare bones of it all, ending with an apology. Her pain was unmistakable as was her regret. Gibbs rose from is chair and walked around the table moving carefully as to avoid startling her and whispered in her ear,

_When you are ready to tell me the rest, I will be here._

TBC.

Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for the wonderful feed back. I hope you enjoy. Reviews are welcome and appreciated.**

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**She sat bathed in the light shining from the top of the basement stairs. Sitting cross legged on the cement floor of Gibbs' basement, she waited. Eventually, he would return. Eventually, he would know everything. She prayed he would not look at her differently once he heard her story.**

**She had tried, she really had. She trained hard and studied everything. Anything to forget. If she just kept moving, she would survive. One foot in front of the other. One day at a time. If she just kept moving..**

**She could barely stand to be within the confines of her own skin. She found herself clutching her arms across her stomach or clenching her fists. On occasion, she would glance up at Tony or McGee and find them staring at her, their naked concern displayed on their faces. They would quickly glance toward Gibbs for guidance, but he would give an almost imperceptible shake of his head warning them to keep their distance. She wished to could reach out to them, aching to go back to the friendly camaraderie they all once shared.**

**She was the first to arrive in the morning and the last to leave in the evening, preceded nightly by Gibbs who would touch her gently in some way before taking leave for the night. He never asked and he never pried. Until tonight.**

**It was dark in the office as he prepared to leave for the evening. He glanced at Ziva staring blindly past her monitor. Moving so that he stood directly in her line of sight he said, " Ziva, it's time to tell the rest." **

**She gave him a slight nod and whispered, "I know, Gibbs."**

**It took her four full days to arrive in his basement. He saw her sitting in her lonely halo of light from the top of the steps. She spotted him immediately, looking at him with wary eyes. Gibbs descended the stairs and made his way to the cabinet pouring a drink for **

**Ziva.**

**She did not move from her spot on the cold floor, nor did she speak. She just watched him, monitoring his every move as though she were hunted prey. He sighed, turned back to the cabinet and decided to fill the remaining space in the glass. He moved to sit cross legged directly in front of her, their knees a breath from touching. Handing her the glass he whispered, "When you are ready, Ziva."**

**TBC.**

**Thank you for reading. More to come…**


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Okay this is my take on what happened to Ziva in Somalia. I can not imagine how horrible it would be to be held prisoner in a camp as Ziva had been. It also seems unlikely that they would only beat her up. Hopefully, I am staying true to the characters. Feed back welcome and thank you for reading.

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He sat mere inches from her. A warmth was spreading through her body from the amber liquid in the glass he had placed within her hands. Eventually, she had consumed enough alcohol to dull her senses and lessen the pain, guilt and shame. Finally, she looked up into his face and met his direct stare.

He always knew. He just _knew_. No matter what the issue, Gibbs always knew. It was almost as if he possessed a type of extrasensory ability to see through the human exterior. He felt Ziva's pain, for it was palpable and undeniable.

Ziva was unlike his other agents. Her childhood, or lack thereof, had been rougher, harder. Pain and suffering had been no stranger to a young Ziva David. That was who she was, what she'd been groomed to become. It was hardwired within her, almost as if it was part of her genetic make up. Despite all of this, Ziva loved life and had a cunning sense of humor.

He believed in Ziva. Believed in the depth of her strength. Believed in her ability to survive.

It was the thinly veiled vulnerability that had become a constant in Ziva's eyes that worried Gibbs. He had seen it before.

She began speaking, haltingly at first, as though she could barely force the words between her teeth. She didn't meet his eye, but rather stared blindly at the now empty glass in her hand, which she spun around and around with her fingers.

"I did not mean to live, Gibbs," She whispered. A single tear escaped before she shut down. Cut off her emotions. Separated herself from the Ziva in Somalia.

"I was raised Mossad. Part of our training includes torture. Yes, I know it sounds quite barbaric, but it is quite an effective tool in teaching endurance and survival. Every Mossad agent must go through it."

She choked out a disgusted laugh that sounded almost like a sob and continued, "I should tell my father that his regimen his lacking. Nothing I suffered in training prepared me for the reality of being an actual captive. I was not so naïve as to think my gender would spare me any suffering. Their only mistake was misjudging my ability to endure it.

"He ordered it done, Gibbs. My own father sent me on a suicide mission into Saleem's camp. I heard his voice in my head as I followed the courier and killed him. I felt his disapproval as I was captured by his men."

She paused , lifted her chin and stared him directly in the eye.

"I felt his disgust as they violated me."

"Ziva-"

"No, let me finish."

She held up her hand and took a deep breath before settling her unseeing gaze back on the glass in her hands. Her voice dropped back to a whisper.

"I knew what they would do to me the moment I was captured. I know the techniques to get people to talk. Surprisingly, they do not typically resort to rape as a method of getting information. Oh, it is common for captives, just not all that effective as a means of extracting information. Humans can only tolerate so much pain, Gibbs. People will talk more quickly than you might think with physical abuse. Unless, of course, you've been bred to bear it. Then they make quick work of the every day, run of the mill kind of torture."

Ziva suddenly jumped to her feet and tried to compose herself.

"I am not a victim, Gibbs. I was a trained Mossad officer. I was prepared for this, all of it," she said, her voice rising.

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself, Ziva?"

"Suffering is a way of life where I am from. You suffer, you survive, you suffer some more. After awhile, it becomes common. I am _not a victim, Gibbs," she repeated._

_Gibbs slowly got to his feet, but kept his distance from her as she began pacing the room, her voice rising and becoming more forceful._

"_The outcome would have been the same even if my mission had been successful. Even if I had killed Saleem, I would never have survived long enough to escape. I was serving my country, Gibbs. I was serving my father," she was yelling now, her voice becoming shrill with hysteria._

"_My own father knew what fate would befall me and her sent me anyway. And I," she stopped for a moment as if considering, "well, I never disobey a direct order."_

_TBC._

_More to come. Thanks for sticking with me._


	4. Chapter 4

A/N Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing! It is much appreciated. I struggled with this chapter, so I'm hoping it is up to par.

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"_I never disobey a direct order." _

She took a breath in an attempt to calm the slow but steady unraveling of her emotions.

He watched her. Studied her. She felt his eyes boring into her , reading her, and she felt a tiny flare of irrational anger. She resisted the urge to lash out at him. Crossing her arms protectively across her chest, she resumed wandering the perimeter of the dark basement.

He never moved, only watched and waited.

"I could bear it at first. The pain, the starvation, the sleep deprivation. After awhile, pain builds on pain, Gibbs. Each moment I convinced myself to wait just one more moment before giving up the fight. One more moment, just one more moment. Over and over, I held out just one more moment. Eventually, one finds oneself buried beneath so many layers of excruciating pain that the pain actually dissipates or you die."

Still he waited.

"I thought that I would die. I prayed for death. The human body is, well, _human_. I thought that eventually my body would be so broken, it could not survive. But it is resilient, stronger that I ever realized. So strong, that I prayed for my own weakness. I prayed that I could let go. I was angry that my body continued to betray me by keeping me alive."

She finished another lap around the basement, coming to a halt next to the work table. She absently traced swirling patterns into the grainy wood with her fingers.

"It seems I managed to endure that one last minute. I held out until that defining moment when they gave up on extracting information from me. At the time, I did not know why they waited. Why they did not kill me."

She turned to face him, steadying herself by gripping the table top pressing into the small of her back.

"They did not kill me because I was the only female for miles."

Her eyes widened as she heard those words come from her own mouth. As if _now_ it was true. Now that she had spoken the words aloud, they became real. So simple, really and so tragic. The reality that they did not rape her as a hostage or a political prisoner, but simply because of her availability.

She had lumped everything together as suffering for her country. She had not dissected nor analyzed her time in Somalia. Now she couldn't even console herself with the perceived sacrifice as a service to a higher cause. She was simply a victim of the oldest crime against women.

Suddenly, the basement seemed too small. The walls too close. A black fog threatened from the periphery of her eye sight. The tempo of Ziva's breathing rapidly increased as she attempted to force air into her lungs.

Two steps brought Gibbs directly in front of her. He grabbed her arms and shook her slightly.

"Ziva." She stared through him as he tried to catch her attention.

"Breathe. In. Out. In. Out."

Words tumbled out of her mouth haphazardly between desperate gasps for air.

"You can not feel sorry for me, Gibbs. Please. _Please_. You can not see me as less than I was before I left."

She fell to her knees on the cement floor, dragging Gibbs in her wake.

He felt the crack in her exterior and forced his way through her wall.

"Finish it, Ziva," he demanded.

"I will not be damaged goods, Gibbs. I _am not _damaged goods."

She dared a quick glance up at his face and saw the naked understanding and concern, usually masked behind his gruff exterior. No trace of pity or judgment in his expression.

The dam broke.

Her control completely crumbled. Gibbs enveloped her thin body within his arms as she sobbed against the soft fabric of his sweatshirt. She mourned the loss of her family, the loss of her country and the loss of her own body. Great heaving sobs tore through her entire being, as she ground out the ugly words describing what she had endured; what they had done to her.

He never let go of her and he did not say a word as she purged the pain, shame and grief. Her sobs subsided, but she continued to rest against him as exhaustion crept through her body.

She had become so still, that he suspected she may have fallen asleep until her hoarse voice repeated,

"_I am not damaged goods."_


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks for reading! Sorry for the delay in posting. This story was harder to write than I anticipated. I appreciate all of the feedback.

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"_I am not damaged goods."_

The sentence hung there. A hundred thoughts raced through his mind as he searched for the appropriate way to respond to her bleak statement. A hundred things he could say.

But he said simply, "I know."

He stood up and gently tugged her to feet. She had resumed her blank staring. Gibbs placed a finger under her chin and looked into her tear stained face. She wore the same dazed look she had when they had found her. He took her hand and led her upstairs.

He sat her at the kitchen table and turned to make them some coffee. His back to her, he jumped slightly when she unexpectedly began to speak.

"Gibbs, do the others know?"

He sighed and brought the coffee to the table and sat down with her. Cocking his head to the side, he studied her, unsure of how to answer.

"Do they know the specifics, Ziva? No. Do they suspect? Yes."

She looked away and swallowed audibly. He covered her hand with his own.

"They can only imagine what horrors you faced. They do not know for sure. No matter how terrible they could imagine it to be, they will never _know_ what you experienced."

Dragging a hand across his tired eyes he continued, "Hell, Ziva, even I can't imagine how horrible it was and I have heard the specifics."

Ziva jumped to her feet so quickly, her chair slipped backward and crashed to the floor.

"Do not feel sorry for me, Agent Gibbs," she forced out, anger rekindling a fire in eyes that had seemed lifeless since her rescue in Somalia. The sudden spark of anger, of _life_, warmed him, although he let nothing show on his face.

"Sit down, Ziva. Is this really this time for a pissing match?" his voice steady and calm.

She picked up the chair and sat down, her defiance and anger evaporating as quickly as it had appeared.

"I'm sor-"

"Accepted," he cut her off.

She gave him a tentative smile. It was slight, but it was a start.

"Look Ziva, nothing I say can lessen what happened in Somalia."

But there was so much he _wanted_ to say. So much he _couldn't_ say. He wanted to tell her that everything was alright now. He wanted to tell her that he could make it better. He wanted to tell her that she would move on. But all of that was a lie.

He wanted to tell her that he didn't see her any differently, but he did see her differently. He ached for her and he wanted to protect her, shield her as her own father had failed to do. He could say none of those things.

So he merely said instead, "I'm so proud of you, Ziva."

She stared at him, her mouth opening and closing several times as though she wished she could say something but the words were trapped in her throat. Her eyes glistened, but she did not allow a single tear to fall.

Finally, she said, "I think that you are the first person to be so, Gibbs." She gave him a crooked half smile. He did not believe that statement to be true, but he knew that she believed it, so he wisely chose not to argue the point.

They finished their coffee in companionable silence. Several times Ziva began to speak, thinking to obtain reassurance from Gibbs that he did not think less of her, but she stopped herself each time. She would get through this and he would guard her secrets.

Gibbs eventually tucked her into bed in his guest room. He turned to leave, but she stopped him.

"Gibbs."

"Yes, Ziva."

"Stay."

And he did. He lay down on top of the comforter with which he had bundled her and wrapped his arms around her as an added layer of protection.

The next morning Ziva crept out of his house before dawn broke, leaving Gibbs to pretend that he still slept. He did not try to stop her. He knew that they most likely would not speak of any of this again. Just as he knew that the moment Ziva walked out into the chilly morning, she would begin to rebuild her life, all traces of vulnerability filed and stored carefully deep within her.

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A/N Thanks to KindleLyn for noticing that my page had been taken over by italics. ;)


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